


stuck in my head, stuck on my heart, stuck on my body

by cherryvaleska



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Gay Sex, Gunshot Wounds, Jealousy, Jerome Valeska Lives, M/M, Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Post-Episode: s04e18 That's Entertainment, Scratching, Trans Male Character, heavily implied one-sided wayleska, some dirty talk + praise kink, some talk of cunnigulus. sorta, tending to injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25971268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvaleska/pseuds/cherryvaleska
Summary: Saving Jerome is starting feel like it's become a regular thing for Bruce.sequel towith blood stains on his hands, the silver kissed him with scars so heavy
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 25
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't originally going to write a sequel but here we are. you can technically read this without reading the first one but there will be quite a few references you don't understand if you haven't. 
> 
> this chapter isn't explicit but the next one sure will be. i only decided to split this one into two chapters because it was already nearing the word count of the first one and i wasn't even done yet lol. 
> 
> fic title from run away with me by carly rae jepsen because ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Saving Jerome is beginning to feel like a pattern. 

It’s a pattern Bruce didn’t expect to find himself in but it’s one he’s in nonetheless. He doesn’t know what it says about him, that he continues to save a man that has not only attempted to kill him _three_ times now, but has attempted to kill his own brother, has murdered countless people, most recently via the horribly creative method of _bomb_ collars, and who currently makes no plans to stop. He feels like a bit of an enabler but he can’t help it. 

Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence. Maybe he can chalk it all up to that as long as it doesn’t happen again. He hopes it doesn’t _need_ to happen again, but that hope feels a bit futile, given how things have turned out in the past few days. 

_“You know, I could’a swore I told you not to miss me too hard.” Jerome had told him, as if he wasn’t sitting in front of Bruce with his hand covering a gunshot wound that was gushing blood, soaking through his shirt, his jacket, and his glove. “I’m really gettin’ the feeling you didn’t listen.”_

_Bruce was too busy calling Alfred to bother acknowledging what he’d said, his panicked heart rattling in his chest like a caged bird as he pressed his hand over-top of Jerome’s to try and stop the blood flow._

Bruce sighs from his spot behind Jerome, stitching up the bullet’s exit wound with hands that are only a little bit shaky.

The adrenaline and anxiety and fear that had coursed through him while he watched Gordon shoot Jerome has abated by now, for the most part. He can’t think about the scene too hard though, lest he start to feel sick again.

His heart and stomach had been in his throat for the entire car ride, his mind racing and his bloody hands holding a rag to Jerome’s wound while Alfred drove them back to the manor. He knows he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do later: Alfred’s face when he found them in the alley that Bruce had pulled Jerome into during the crowd’s chaos, Alfred’s clear disapproval and needled comments as he helped Bruce get Jerome into the car, his furrowed brow and his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, it all told Bruce that Alfred would be demanding answers to this sooner or later. 

Bruce really doesn’t blame him, but he hopes it’s later rather than sooner. 

He snips off the last of the thread and sits back to eye his work critically. It’s a little sloppy and it’s definitely going to leave a nasty scar, but it’s better than Jerome doing it himself or having one of his Maniax do it in whatever dirty hideout they’d find themselves in. At least in Bruce’s office, with a sterile med-kit, Jerome wasn’t very likely to catch any horrible infections. Bruce hopes so at least, and he mentally thanks Alfred for teaching him how to do things like this during his short-lived vigilante days. He’s also extremely thankful that the bullet had gone straight through, or else Jerome _really_ would have needed a hospital, because Alfred had taught him a lot, but he'd never taught him how to remove bullet fragments from a wound. Bruce feels vaguely nauseous at the mere thought. 

“You know, we really gotta stop meetin’ like this, Bruce. If you wanna ask me out, just say so.” 

“You tried to kill me.” Bruce reminds him as a not-answer. “Again.” 

Jerome throws a crooked grin at him over his shoulder. “That hasn’t stopped you from bein’ sweet on me before.” Bruce’s cheeks turn pink and Jerome chuckles as he turns his head back forward. “Besides, you made it out okay, as usual. I’d like to think me trying to kill you is just another form of foreplay at this point.” 

Bruce rolls his eyes at that and trades the needle and scissors for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball. “How very romantic of you.” He says dryly as he unscrews the cap, places the cotton ball at the opening, and upends the bottle just the slightest. 

“Excuse you, I’m a _huge_ romantic.” Jerome says, horribly dramatic as always, and Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes again. “Pretty sure I made that clear the last time we saw each other.”

Images of the last time they saw each other, before this bombing nonsense, flicker through his mind. Bruce bites his lip and sets the bottle down. Truth be told, he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since it happened. Jerome’s body, Jerome’s soft touch, Jerome’s voice when he’d said that _that_ was how it was meant to be, Jerome’s eyes when he told him to--

He scatters the thoughts with a subtle shake of the head. They aren’t important right now, no matter how much Jerome seems intent on bringing it up.

“I don’t know if I’d count anything that happened in the presence of corpses as romance.” Bruce pulls the cotton away, sets the bottle back down.

“I would. Haven’t you ever read Romeo and Juliet?” 

“Have _you_?” Bruce’s lips pull into a small smile as he says it. As long as Jerome can’t see him doing it, maybe it’s okay to acknowledge that Jerome can be amusing. Sometimes. “But yes, I have, and I'm sorry to tell you, but you’re not much of a Romeo, Jerome.” Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers. Comparing the two of them to he and Jerome feels a little too juvenile, a little too dramatically romantic when romance hasn't even been a factor in their relationship. 

He ignores the tiny, tiny part of his brain that whispers ' _yet_ '. 

“Oh, how you wound me.” Jerome says, mock offended, and his piggish snort deflates into a sharp hiss as Bruce dabs at his wound with the cotton ball. It’s the same sound he’d made when Bruce first cleaned it and Bruce’s lips twist. Part of him wants to tease Jerome for making such a big deal over peroxide when he’d hardly complained about the bullet wound itself since Bruce had found him, but he knows that he can’t. He’d been too worried about Jerome- is too worried about him to make too much light of the situation. So, he tries to be a little more gentle as he cleans it up.

“Did you take the pain meds that Alfred gave you?”

“Yes, dear.” Jerome says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“And the antibiotics?” 

“Yes.” He repeats, dragging the ‘s’ out in a lazy drawl. 

“Good.” Bruce pretends Jerome isn’t being an asshole and smears some antibiotic cream over the wound, just as a precaution, before he places a thick bandage over it, matching the one on the front of his shoulder. 

Fleetingly, he thinks about kissing it. 

A memory bubbles to the surface of his mind of his mother doing the same for him, as she would every time she'd put a band-aid on any scrape or cut he’d got. 

He very quickly tosses that idea aside. That’s the sort of thing you do for someone you care about, and Bruce doesn’t have the strength today to examine why he’d think about doing such a thing for Jerome. 

_Because you’re mine._

_You’re mine._

_Say it, Bruce. Say it. Say you’re mine._

_I’m yours. Only yours._

He doesn’t want to think about it. 

He does _not_ want to think about it.

Clearing his throat, he gathers up the trash left behind on the table. “I’m finished.” 

Jerome hums in reply and tugs on his bloody jacket as Bruce leaves him behind on the chaise lounge to toss the trash in the trash can by his desk, bloody latex gloves included. Jerome’s ruined shirt, vest, and gloves remain on the floor and Bruce makes a mental note to have Alfred burn them later if Jerome didn’t plan on taking them. There’s no wash that could possibly save them. 

Jerome tilts his head, staring at the fireplace like he has since Bruce sat him down. He gets up and moves closer to it, and the memory of what he’d looked like in front of it while it was blazing when he’d broken into the manor two years ago comes to mind. He’d been intimidating, cast in the light and shadows of the flames, the cuts from reacquiring his face still red and fresh. It’s nostalgia in a way that should make Bruce nervous, but it doesn’t. 

“You know,” Jerome begins, and as if reading Bruce’s mind he does the same motion he did years ago when the fire was lit, albeit a bit stiffly, swishing his hand through the air as he sidesteps. “I _still_ will never understand rich people’s tastes.” In his mind, Bruce can see the glass owl in his hand. He pivots on his foot, turning to the side and half facing Bruce, his hand still in the air. “You’re a billionaire, Brucie. I’m sure you can afford to hire an interior decorator.” 

Unbidden, Bruce can feel his lips twitch upwards. “I don’t find it necessary to change it. My grandparents furnished it--”  
  
“I can tell.” 

“--and my parents liked it like this. So I intend to keep it this way for as long as I can.” 

“Bit melodramatic, but I can appreciate the dedication. Even though it’s still really fuckin’ ugly.” 

“I don’t imagine your cell in Arkham was going to win you any awards for interior design, but in any case, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” 

Jerome barks a surprised laugh at the catty reply. “Oh, I love it when you give me attitude, Bruce.” He trails closer to Bruce, crossing the room in just a few strides of his long legs. 

Bruce dutifully ignores how his heart beats just a little bit faster when Jerome comes to a stop in front of him. He’s not as short as he had been that night in the manor, but Bruce is still small enough and Jerome is still tall enough that Bruce still has to tilt his head just the slightest to look him in the eye. “Is that so?” 

Unlike the last time they stood like this, there’s no Maniax destroying his property, there’s no Alfred on the floor, and there’s no knife to his throat. It’s just the two of them, and that alone carries so, so many possibilities. Bruce wants to kiss him. Bruce wants to touch him. Wants to be touched by him. 

Jerome’s extended lips pull upwards. “Yeah. It’s cute, listenin’ to you sass me.” He raises his hand up to Bruce’s throat and he extends a finger, presses it to Bruce’s jugular, and slowly runs the tip of it across the same scar he’d been so fixated on last time. A shiver races down his spine. Bruce _wants to kiss him._

He thinks about the tip of a knife tracing the same path as Jerome’s finger, thinks about a knife pointed at his throat, thinks about a hand spread wide over the nape of his neck. 

_The idea of slitting that pretty pink throat-_

Thinks about bright, fascinated eyes. 

_You're saying I need an audience?_

A warm hand around his throat.

_You never look as scared as you should be._

A heavy body on top of his.

_You’re a collection of pretty boy parts, Bruce._

“But it also makes me wonder; just what other uses could I find for that pretty little mouth of yours?”

Jerome’s voice pulls him out of his own head, and Bruce blinks up at him. 

He can’t take it any longer. 

“I know one.” Bruce says, and his voice cracks just the slightest, putting a major dent in his attempt at being bold. 

Jerome doesn’t make fun of him for it though, much to Bruce’s quiet relief. He raises his eyebrows and Bruce can see the spark of interest in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d had when he asked Bruce if he was saying he needed an audience. “You gonna tell me?” He moves a beat closer, moving into Bruce’s space. They’re so close now that Bruce can feel the warmth coming off of him, can smell the heady mix of Jerome’s blood and whatever cologne he’d put on that morning. It's a surprisingly alluring cocktail.

Glancing up at Jerome from under his eyelashes, he bites his lip, and notes with some pleasure how Jerome twitches as a result. His eyes look darker, hungrier. Bruce mentally files that little tidbit of information away. 

“Kiss me?” 

A hint of amusement shows on Jerome’s face. He hums as if he’s contemplating and the hand he’d traced along Bruce’s throat drops down to Bruce’s pants. “Not exactly what I’d had in mind, but,” His finger hooks in one of the belt loops, and he pulls Bruce even closer to him. “You don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.” 

And then Bruce gets what he's been aching for.

Finally, _blissfully_ , Jerome presses his lips to Bruce’s.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really didn't intend to take so long with this second half but alas, that's life. sorry about that lol. i will admit i'm not super satisfied with some parts of this, but i've been working on it on and off for quite a bit and i just wanted to get this posted so that i could move onto other wips without any guilt. 
> 
> same disclaimer as the first fic in this two-parter, but this is technically vaginal sex, so if that's not your thing then there's your warning.

Bruce’s hands immediately rise to Jerome’s hair, and he can feel Jerome snicker against his lips as his fingers thread through wild ginger locks. He’s missed this, and he knows that he shouldn't have, but he can’t get enough. Sex with Jerome had been mind-blowing -- even if he doesn’t have any other experience to compare it to, he’s sure of this -- but kissing him? Kissing him was a whole other experience. None of his other kisses, not even the ones with Selina when they were younger and he’d been so hopelessly head over heels for her, have ever made him feel like Jerome's did. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. It’s wrong for him to be doing this, to be grasping at Jerome and clinging to him like he’s afraid he’s going to disappear -- he almost did though, didn’t he? -- and kissing him and feeling like Jerome’s lips are a fix for an addiction he didn’t know he’d had. It’s wrong for him to be gasping and whining when Jerome bites him, it’s wrong for him to be moaning when Jerome’s tongue slides against his and they share the taste of his blood. It’s wrong for him to shudder and feel his cock harden even further when Jerome backs him into his desk. 

It’s wrong, but nothing has ever felt so _right_. Bruce could get drunk on Jerome’s kisses like they were the most expensive alcohol money could buy. 

Jerome’s tongue runs over the split in his lip, and Bruce moans again at the sharp sting, heat burning his belly. 

All the sweetness of a cordial, all the bite of a fine tequila. Bruce craves more and more with every slide of Jerome’s lips against his own.

Jerome pulls back and Bruce needily chases his lips before he can stop himself. “Gives you a real sense of deja vu, huh?” 

The desk digs into his back just as the booth table had and Bruce can't help but shudder at the memory. 

He doesn’t answer Jerome, he favors pressing their lips together again and again instead. He gives Jerome a few quick kisses, and internally revels in the contented sound that Jerome rumbles out. It's not unlike a purr, and Bruce can't help but find it endearing. 

Once he’s satisfied -- for now -- Bruce pulls back to look at him properly, and his hands slide from Jerome’s hair down to his face. One remains there, pressed against his cheek while the other comes to a rest on Jerome’s chest. Subtly, he can feel Jerome tense and then a beat later he relaxes, ever so slightly leaning into Bruce’s hand. It’s barely noticeable, but it makes his heart thump heavily in his chest. Bruce hadn’t been able to touch him like this last time. 

Bruce’s fingers trail along Jerome’s jaw, his chin, his bottom lip, touching his scars and smoothing over his skin. “It’s healed up well. I’m surprised.” Aside from some slight discoloration, he’s relieved to find that there’s hardly any evidence left from Zachary’s cruelty in the diner. 

“Mm, well, Ozzie’s got some top notch connections. I made him hook me up with the good shit.” 

Bruce’s lips purse, and he rubs his thumb over Jerome’s chin, resisting the urge to say, ‘you could have asked me,’ because he knows that Jerome wouldn't have. But if he had, Bruce would have helped, even if he knew he wasn’t supposed to. And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? The same dilemma that he keeps running into: helping Jerome when he knows that he isn’t supposed to. 

_Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence_ , he tells himself again, as if it holds any bearing on the reality of their relationship. 

Jerome playfully nips at his thumb before pulling away, but he doesn’t go far. 

He steps around Bruce and hops up on his desk like he owns the place, and Bruce’s thoughts from the diner briefly come to mind. He won’t be bending Jerome over anything anytime soon, but it’s enough of a reminder of his fantasies for more than just his brain to take interest. 

Jerome kicks his legs and his shoes skim against the floor. He grins, wide and feral at Bruce and there’s an extremely familiar twinkle in his eyes. “You wanna know what I’m thinkin’ about?” 

“I’m quite sure you’re going to tell me no matter what I say.” 

“Right you are! You’re such a smart boy.” Bruce hates him sometimes, truly, he does. “What I’m thinkin’ about is us continuing what we started at the diner, and going for a round two.” He pats the desk’s polished surface. “Riiight here.” 

A beat. 

“You can’t be serious. Right now?” 

Jerome looks at him like he’d said something foolish.   
  
“Well, _yeah_? You don’t look like you have any plans, and I sure as shit don’t. Plus,” he lifts his hand, holds it in the air sideways and slowly extends his finger while grinning perversely. “I know you’re already gettin’ _real_ happy to see me.”

Bruce decidedly ignores that last addition. “There are other ways to thank me.” He says, thinking back to how Jerome ‘thanked’ him last time. However, excitement and heat pools heavily in his belly despite his words.

Jerome raises an eyebrow. “Who said I was thanking you? You’re thinkin’ awfully high of yourself, Brucie.” He shoves the folders and papers off of Bruce’s desk -- Bruce watches them scatter across the floor with the faintest glimmer of annoyance -- and reclines back against it, propping himself up with his hand on his uninjured side. “Maybe I just want somethin’ to make me feel good. Maybe I’m just bored. Or,” he shrugs his good shoulder. “Maybe I just really wanna get fucked by a pretty boy again.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s not a lie or an excuse, either. Jerome is _wounded,_ he doesn’t need to be engaging in any sort of… activities that are going to open up his stitches or further exacerbate his wound. 

“ _Puh_ -lease ,” Jerome scoffs. “I ain’t made of glass, darlin’. I’ve had worse than this, I can survive a little rough housing. Besides,” he slides his free hand’s thumb into the waistband of his obnoxiously plaid pants. “I’ve been thinking about that pretty dick of yours for _days_. Even when we were up on stage I thought about it.” 

Bruce flushes. “Is that so?” 

Jerome hums. “Yeah, thought about sittin’ on it right in front of all those people, right in front of my wimpy brother.” He slips his hand into his pants and Bruce’s breath catches sharply. He can see the movements of Jerome’s fingers under the fabric as he starts to stroke himself and he can feel his cock twitch in his steadily tightening pants. “Lettin’ everybody but _especially_ him know just who owns it.” 

Bruce swallows heavily, fighting to keep eye contact instead of full on staring at Jerome’s hand as it moves. “Why the emphasis on Jeremiah?” 

Something dark flickers over Jerome’s face. “Because I saw how he looked at you, Bruce. And I didn’t fuckin like it. Not one bit.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, probably never would admit it, but the notion of Jerome being jealous… he can’t say it’s unattractive. It should be, but Jerome’s possessiveness sends a little prickle of pleasure through him. He worries his lower lip between his teeth before responding, “I’m sure it’s not like that. Jeremiah barely knows me.” 

“Bullshit. I _saw_ him, lookin’ at you like if you so much as breathed at him he’d be on his knees for you.” 

It’s.. an interesting image, to say the least. 

“Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve already told you this, but in case you needed a _reminder_ -” He pulls his hand out of his pants and leans up, snatching the front of Bruce’s shirt and forcibly pulling him in close. Bruce stumbles with a yelp and barely manages to keep from falling on top of Jerome, his legs hitting the desk in between Jerome’s and his hands catching on Jerome’s thighs.

“--you’re mine _,_ and I don’t share what’s mine, with anybody. Especially not _him._ ” His lip curls, and his free hand moves downwards, unzipping Bruce’s fly. Jerome’s hand slides inside his pants, inside his briefs, and his fingers curl around his cock. Bruce can’t subdue his whimper as they give him a precursory squeeze. “That spoiled golden boy has spent the past ten years getting everything he's ever wanted, and then some. If he so much as lays a _finger_ on you, I’ll cut his fuckin’ hands off and make him eat ‘em, and then I’ll slit the bitch’s throat.” 

He tilts his head, strokes Bruce’s cock from base to head and Bruce shudders above him. “Get the picture, darlin’?”  
  
“Yes,” Bruce gasps, his hips jerking. He has his doubts about what Jerome is saying, about Jeremiah looking at him in any sort of way that could possibly make Jerome jealous, but he knows that he’s serious about his threat. Not that Bruce would ever give him the opportunity to ever do such a thing to Jeremiah, but he knows it’s not a bluff. Jerome had made it explicitly clear that he’d jump at any chance to kill his brother, if today’s bomb related events are anything to go by. He doesn’t know what the bad blood there is, but he knows that no matter what Jeremiah had ever done to Jerome, he doesn’t deserve to die for it.

But Jerome's insistence, his adamancy that Bruce is his and nobody else's.. it never fails to make Bruce's chest do the funniest of things. The benefit, the house of mirrors, the diner, now, Jerome's possessiveness is sickeningly alluring and Bruce hates that he doesn't hate it like he should. It should make him _afraid_ but instead it just makes his heart heat faster, his head lighter, and his cock harder. He can't help but feel like a moth drawn to the flame. 

Still, he feels compelled to correct the situation, protect Jeremiah the best he can. 

“I don’t- I’m not interested in Jeremiah, not like that.” Jerome’s hand tightens around his cock before it strokes him again, and Bruce’s mouth falls open in a soft mewl, his eyebrows furrowing. “You- you don’t have to hurt him.” 

Jerome eyes him critically, stroking Bruce’s cock in motions that make his mind trip over itself like a scratched record, his fingers digging into the meat of Jerome’s thighs. His finger presses against Bruce’s slit and he can’t help the way he whines, pre-come slicking Jerome’s finger as he continues to rub against it. “I do, actually. And I will. Maybe not today, but I’ll get my hands on that lying little rat one day.” If Bruce wasn’t so thoroughly distracted, he might be trying to dissuade Jerome from those thoughts, but he can’t think about much else other than Jerome’s hand on his cock, stroking him so perfectly. The room is filled with Bruce’s hushed pants and moans as Jerome continues to toy with him. It’s a sweet torture and it turns Bruce’s brain to mush and fills his belly with molten heat. 

Right when Bruce feels like he’s about to beg for Jerome to finish him off, he pulls his hand away and out of his pants, letting go of Bruce’s shirt as he sits back again. “But enough about him.” Jerome brings his hand to his mouth and Bruce can’t look away when his tongue darts out to lave over his palm, his fingers, licking up Bruce’s precome. “Get those pants off, Brucie boy.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Bruce yanks his shirt over his head and drops it. He unbuckles his belt in a hurry, ignoring how Jerome snickers at his excitement, and pulls it through the loops. He tosses it behind him and doesn’t care where it lands as he shoves his pants down to his ankles and kicks them off along with his shoes. However, he hesitates at his briefs, looking up at Jerome a bit diffidently. It’s nothing Jerome hasn’t seen before but… he hadn’t been the one to do this last time. He’s never undressed in front of someone before, and it feels a bit foolish to be getting shy like this with someone he’s already been intimate with, but he can’t help it. 

Jerome quirks an eyebrow, twitches his fingers in a ‘go on’ motion. 

Bruce swallows and averts his eyes. His face burns hot as he slowly -- more so for the fact of being nervous as opposed to teasing Jerome, though he imagines Jerome doesn’t particularly hate the sight -- slides his briefs down, shuffles out of them, and then kicks them over to lay in a heap on his pants. He feels so.. exposed like this, standing naked in front of Jerome who is, for the most part, clothed. 

Jerome hums appreciatively, and he sounds so fucking pleased that Bruce could swear that it’s an actual purr. 

Bruce glances up and his face only burns hotter as he catches Jerome licking his lips. But he’s not looking at Bruce’s face, no, his eyes are determinedly fixed downwards on Bruce’s hard cock. The intensity of Jerome’s stare makes his cock twitch, and it’s so, so hard to resist the urge to cover himself with his hands. The knowledge that Jerome would surely make him move his hands anyway makes the idea feel pretty useless. 

“Look at you,” Jerome croons, lifting his eyes from Bruce’s cock to his pink face, “standin’ here blushing like a virgin about to get his cherry popped. It’s adorable, even if we both know you ain’t much of a virgin anymore.” Jerome grins at him. It’s crooked and perverse and speaks of lewd things. “Well, in some places you still are. We can definitely change that, though.” 

Bruce squirms under Jerome’s gaze at the implication. 

He’s not stupid, he can more than guess what Jerome is hinting at, and it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. Probably more than he’d like to admit. Since their night in the diner, Bruce had done his own.. research -- he’s increasingly thankful that Alfred would never disrespect his privacy by snooping through his internet history -- and he’s extremely aware of the fact that the tables could be turned here. That Jerome could be the one fucking _him,_ if they were properly prepared _._ The thought of Jerome’s hands on his hips, squeezing bruises into his skin as he fucked into him, of Jerome pressing kisses up Bruce’s spine, of Jerome being the first one inside of him much like he was the first one Bruce had ever been inside, it’s… 

Well, it’s… 

It’s really hot. 

“I wouldn’t, ah- I wouldn’t object to that.” 

Jerome’s eyebrows shoot up and his grin widens. “Really?” 

“It may have crossed my mind since I last saw you. Once or twice.” 

Clear interest and excitement lights up Jerome’s eyes, and Bruce can’t help but feel a tad cotton headed. Jerome has never hidden his interest in Bruce, but any time he’s presented with such a blatant display of it, Bruce can’t deny that it does something to him. People expressing interest for him isn’t exactly something Bruce is a stranger to, but it’s different with Jerome. Jerome isn’t interested in his money, his status -- well, no more than for it to be a prop in his twisted little murder games, but whatever -- or anything of the sort. His attention and his intentions may be far from pure sometimes- most of the time, but Bruce doesn’t dislike it. 

It’s a lot to examine, really, and he knows that he’s going to do a lot of thinking on this later and about why he doesn’t dislike the fact that Jerome is apparently so hooked on him, but not right now. 

“Oh Brucie, you are _so_ gonna tell me all about that. I’m expectin’ a lot of detail, too.” Jerome leans up and shrugs his bloody coat off his shoulders, letting it drop onto the desk. “I wanna hear all about you gettin’ hot and bothered to the thought of me fuckin’ your ass--” Bruce makes a strangled noise. “-- but not right now.” His grin turns salacious as he returns to his previous pose, and he smooths the hand not propping him up down his own stomach. Bruce’s eyes follow, and he greedily takes in the sight of Jerome shirtless in front of him yet again. There’s a splash of freckles right across the center of his chest that Bruce is extremely interested in.

“Right _noow_ , I want what I’ve been thinkin’ about since I left ya at Zach’s.”

Excitement and anticipation burn hot inside of Bruce, twisting his gut and tightening his chest. He lifts his gaze from Jerome’s chest to his eyes -- dark, dark green rimmed with red lashes, filled with so much heat and _hunger_ that it makes Bruce’s heart do something funny in his chest. 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, babes.” Jerome winks at him and Bruce rolls his eyes, ignoring Jerome’s chortling just as he ignores the flush on his cheeks. 

Jerome’s giggling dies off for now -- though knowing Jerome, Bruce imagines it won’t be long before he’s laughing about _something_ again -- and he lazily snaps the hem of his pants. “You’re gonna have to do a lot of the work this time, darlin’. Can’t do a whole lot here with this bum arm.” 

Bruce inhales sharply. “That’s fine.” His hands tremble a little as they move up to hook into the hem of Jerome’s pants. He works them down with meager difficulty since the asshole makes no effort to help him, ignores Jerome as he sighs dreamily and says, “I always wanted to try bein’ a pillow prince,” and finally manages to get them down to Jerome’s knees. 

Bruce pauses. 

Blinks.

“You were going to kill me today, and you didn’t even put any underwear on?” He says, shooting Jerome an incredulous look. 

Jerome cackles.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “I’m all about comfort, Brucie. Why should I be uncomfortable on one of my biggest days?” 

_Unbelievable_ , Bruce thinks. 

“Unbelievable.” Bruce says. 

“Yeah, cause you’re _so_ bothered about there bein’ one less layer to get in the way of you puttin’ your dick in me. Please.” He scoffs. “Quit your bitching and get on with it.”

There’s a reprimand on the tip of Bruce’s tongue, ready to scold Jerome for going commando on today of all days, for being so pushy, but Jerome spreads his legs and Bruce suddenly doesn’t have the attention span to fuss at him for anything. His eyes trail from the trail of hair under Jerome’s navel and fuck, he wants to touch it so bad. Rub his fingers through it, trace it down to the thick patch of ginger curls and… and... touch Jerome. Press his fingers inside of his slick, wet heat. Fuck him with his fingers and make him feel _good_ , make him lose his mind. 

Maybe Bruce could even put his mouth on him, lick and suck until Jerome comes all over his face. 

Bruce swallows heavily, his cock throbbing. 

Maybe Jerome would even sit on his face. Rut and fuck against Bruce’s mouth as he soaks Bruce’s face, bucking and moaning above him.. 

Jerome is wet, practically dripping slick down between his cheeks and onto the polished surface of Bruce’s father’s desk. It makes the fantasies burn all the brighter in his mind, and he knows that he should be bothered about his father’s desk being defiled like this, but Bruce can’t find it in him to be anything but _turned on_ by it all. 

It’s wrong, it’s dirty, and Bruce wants to bury his face between Jerome’s thighs and not come up for air until Jerome is shoving him away and Bruce’s face is soaked. 

There’s a hand sliding along his cheek and Bruce is roused from his thoughts, heated eyes meeting Jerome’s. He looks amused and endeared all in one, one ginger eyebrow cocked as he rubs his thumb against Bruce’s cheek. 

“You’re cute, Bruce,” Jerome says, almost adoring and Bruce flutters his eyelashes just to make Jerome blow out an amused snort. “But if you don’t stop staring at my cunt and just fuck me already, I might have to revisit my plans to kill ya. I’m really not a patient guy, if you haven’t noticed by now.” 

Despite himself, Bruce smiles just a little. 

“That’s pretty counterintuitive. I can’t fuck you if you kill me. We’d both lose in that case.” 

Jerome twitches, another layer of hunger darkening his eyes, and Bruce wonders if it’s because of his foul language. It wouldn’t be surprising at all to learn that Bruce cursing would be something that would get Jerome off. 

The pad of Jerome’s thumb swipes across Bruce’s bottom lip, and Bruce lets his mouth slide open obediently. Jerome makes a soft sound as Bruce takes his thumb into his mouth, swiping his tongue against the calloused skin and he twitches again when Bruce gently bites him. 

“That pretty little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day, darlin’,” Jerome rasps, and Bruce can’t help the pulse of satisfaction at how thoroughly wrecked he’s starting to sound. 

“Maybe I want to get in trouble,” Bruce says, letting his voice dip softly as he looks up at Jerome from under his eyelashes sliding his palms up Jerome’s spread thighs. It’s a little flirty, a little bold, a little embarrassing, but it’s worth it when Jerome groans and pulls at Bruce until Bruce is leaning over him and Jerome can smack their lips together. 

Jerome kisses him like he’s starving, like Bruce’s lips are the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He devours Bruce’s mouth, his tongue sliding against his teeth, his palate, swiping across Bruce’s tongue and Bruce moans desperately. He moves closer, his hands sliding up to Jerome’s hips and the head of his cock brushing against the inner of Jerome’s thighs. 

A pleased sound rumbles in Jerome’s throat and he soon pulls away, nipping at Bruce’s lower lip. “Fuck, you drive me fucking crazy,” he mumbles against Bruce’s lips, connecting them again in a wet kiss. “Everythin’ about you was made to drive me nuts, I fuckin’ swear. That sharp mind of yours, those eyes, all of your pretty boy parts, _fuck_ -” 

“ _Jerome_ ,” Bruce mewls, rutting his cock against Jerome’s thighs. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this and he doesn’t think Jerome knows either. 

Jerome adjusts himself, spreading his legs wider and it makes something hot and primal flare in Bruce’s overheated mind. 

Jerome Valeska, an insane psychopath, the leader of a cult who strikes fear in the hearts of so many people in this city.

A criminal. A murderer. 

Spreading his legs for Bruce, dripping wet for Bruce, holding onto Bruce like _he’s_ afraid Bruce is going to go somewhere, kissing Bruce like he’s starving. 

Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s billionaire prince, and Jerome Valeska, Gotham’s curse.

_Haven’t you ever read Romeo and Juliet?_

What a sight they must be, what a pair they make. 

“Fuck, c’mon, _c’mon_ ,” Jerome hisses against Bruce’s lips. “Put your fuckin’ cock inside of me already, Bruce. _Fuck me_.”

“Yeah, _yeah_ , okay.” 

Bruce’s hand moves from Jerome’s hip to grip at his cock, rubbing the head against Jerome’s wet slick to wet himself up a little. He’s not very experienced but he _is_ educated, he knows this isn’t enough lubrication. For some reason, that doesn’t bother him. If anything it only makes him more excited, and Jerome clearly shares the opinion, his hips wriggling eagerly. 

The tip of his cock presses against Jerome’s entrance and when he finally, _finally_ pushes inside.. 

It’s _heaven_. 

Jerome groans loud and low, his head thumping back against the desk as Bruce slides deeper and deeper. Jerome is _soaked_ and Bruce knows that the desk is going to be a mess by the time this is over. 

“ _Fuck_.” 

Jerome shudders, and then he’s surging up, hooking both arms around Bruce’s shoulders and Bruce yelps in surprise. Concern pulses through him and he shoots an anxious look at Jerome’s bandage. 

“Wait, Jerome, your shoulder-” 

“Shit- stop worrying about it and fuck me.” He locks his leg around Bruce’s hip and jerks it, forcing Bruce’s cock deeper inside of him and twin moans lurch from their chests as a result. 

“God, I love your cock, Brucie,” Jerome praises, and Bruce couldn’t hold back his wrecked whine if he wanted to. “Perfect, so perfect, fuck- fills me up just right. Like it was made just for me.” Jerome rocks his hips eagerly, and Bruce takes the cue to move. 

He pulls back, sliding out some before rolling his hips forward, taking in Jerome’s pleased moan. He sets up a rhythm, slow and deep at first, caught up in the sensation of Jerome around him. Then his thrusts pick up speed and momentum, and it’s a little sloppy, a little jerky, but Jerome clearly doesn’t mind. 

Bruce fucks his way into Jerome, feeling his brain turn into slurry with every thrust, every wet sound, every clench of Jerome’s insides around him. He’s so tight, so wet, _fuck._

Unlike last time, Jerome is not as controlled and put together. He clings onto Bruce’s shoulders, digging his nails into Bruce’s skin and scoring angry lines down Bruce’s flesh as Bruce fucks him. He babbles the dirtiest things into Bruce’s ear, his teeth catching on Bruce’s earlobe. 

“Shit, fuck yeah, that’s- that’s it. Fuck me, fill me up with that pretty cock, Bruce.” 

His legs are locked so tight around Bruce’s hips, keeping him from pulling out, from going anywhere. As if Bruce would. 

“Do I feel good, baby? Huh? Talk- ah, _fuck,_ talk to me.” 

The sounds bouncing off the walls are so lewd; the slick sound of Bruce’s cock slamming into Jerome’s wet heat, Jerome’s moans and foul talk, Bruce’s soft whines and whimpers as he fills Jerome over and over. He almost can’t believe he’s doing this again, fucking Jerome. He certainly can’t believe that he’s doing it in his own house, in his father’s study no less, but there’s no way he’s going to complain right now. Not with how Jerome clenches around him. 

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Bruce gasps, burying his face into Jerome’s sweaty neck. “You- you feel so good. You’re really w-wet and- and tight, _nngh-”_

Jerome breathes a giggle and Bruce really doesn’t have the brains to figure out what’s so funny right now. He finds he doesn’t really care as he snaps his hips like his life depends on it, rubbing his face into Jerome’s skin, muffling his whines and cries the best he can. It’s not the same as the diner, they can’t be as loud as they want. Alfred could come back at any time. 

Jerome drags a rough score of scratches down Bruce’s back and Bruce can feel his skin splitting underneath his nails. It should hurt, it should make Bruce pull away and tend to the bleeding wounds, but it doesn’t. It only adds to the pleasure, the pressure building up inside of him, and Bruce groans into Jerome’s neck. The pain, the blood he can feel welling up in the scratches only makes it so much better. 

It makes it better for Jerome too, it seems. Bruce isn’t sure if it’s the act of clawing him or the scent of blood mixing with the thick smell of sex in the air, and for all he knows it could be both, but Jerome warbles a moan, his hips jerking. 

“Fuck, _fuck!_ Scratch me back, bite me, tear me the fuck apart,” Jerome gasps and dimly, Bruce guesses he shouldn’t be surprised by Jerome’s requests. Turning his face further into Jerome’s neck, he smooths his tongue over his chosen spot, kissing and sucking until a bruise forms into his pale, freckled skin, unable to resist the urge to be gentle to Jerome. But gentle isn’t what Jerome wants, and he hisses through clenched teeth as he drives his nails down Bruce’s back once more. 

“I said, _bite_ me,” Jerome practically snarls, and even as Bruce muffles a whimper at the pain of his skin splitting more and more, he decides not to deny him. 

He sinks his teeth into Jerome’s flesh and as blood bursts into his mouth, as Jerome moans obscenely underneath of him, bucking and writhing and tightening around Bruce’s cock, slurring out a stream of curses, it occurs to Bruce. 

Jerome wants to be marked. He wants Bruce to mark him up just as much as Jerome does to him. 

And Bruce doesn’t hate it. 

He doesn’t hate the thought of covering Jerome in bites and scratches, bruises and blemishes. He doesn’t hate the thought of people looking at Jerome and seeing everything Bruce had left behind, seeing that Jerome belonged to someone, even if they didn’t know who. 

_Because you’re mine._

_You’re mine._

_Say it, Bruce. Say it. Say you’re mine._

Jerome’s words from the diner flare to mind for the second time that day. 

If Bruce was Jerome’s, then was Jerome Bruce’s? 

Jerome owning Bruce. Bruce owning Jerome. Such a thought would have repulsed and terrified him a few years ago, but now?

It’s enough to send Bruce over the edge and he clenches his eyes shut, his teeth pulling free from Jerome’s skin as he gasps out a loud cry. His fingers are digging so sharply into Jerome’s hips that he’s sure there will be bruises, mirror images of the bruises he knows he left behind after the diner. He hopes Jerome likes them, hopes Jerome touches the finger shaped bruises that night when he can’t sleep. 

Jerome’s fingers move up from Bruce’s bloodied back, sliding through Bruce’s curls as he coos breathless praises into Bruce’s ear. 

“Good boy, good boy, Bruce. Darlin’ boy, that’s right, you’re doing so good. Fuck, filling me up with your come. Feels so good, baby, you’re such a good boy-” 

And it’s so much, almost _too_ much. His cock jerks and pulses inside of Jerome and Bruce cannot help but utter a soft sob as Jerome clenches around him, the sensation bordering on _too much,_ the aftershocks sending trembles through his jerking body. Jerome coaxes and soothes him through it all, stroking through his hair and pressing kisses to the side of his face until Bruce stops twitching

Bruce rests his body on Jerome’s, sliding down just the slightest so that he can pillow his head Jerome’s moving chest as they both pant until their breathing comes down. Their skin is sweaty and sticky and it should be gross, but Bruce can’t find it in him to be bothered right now. He cracks his eyes open, tracing one of his hands from Jerome’s hip, up his side, touching his tacky skin, wondering about the scars he can feel here and there. He can hear Jerome’s heart thumping away in his chest, further evidence of his mortality as a man as opposed to the manifestation of an idea that he so desperately tries to become.

He’s tracing a small speckling of freckles along Jerome’s ribs when Jerome shakes with a soft laugh, a hand smoothing through Bruce’s sweaty curls. “God _damn,_ ” Jerome says, and Bruce turns his head, propping his chin up on Jerome’s chest to look up at him. Jerome is grinning down at him, lazy, satisfied, and it makes Bruce’s heart jump in his chest. 

_He’s so handsome_ , Bruce thinks, eyes trailing over Jerome’s face. He knows that most people would be put off by the scars framing Jerome’s face and by the extended pull of his lips, but Bruce hasn’t felt that way in a long time. Sure they’d been intimidating and maybe even a little gross when the scars were fresh, when Jerome was stapling his face back into place over and over, but once he’d gotten used to them he’d felt vastly different. It had been quite the unwelcome realization years ago, and he’s absolutely never going to let Jerome know that he’d started to find him attractive back then. Bruce had already beaten himself up for it when he was younger, there’s no way he’s going to open himself up for more of Jerome’s teasing. God, he’d never hear the end of it if he did. 

He eyes the scars looping around Jerome’s jaw and fleetingly thinks about touching them. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s touched Jerome’s face, not even the first time today, but he feels like perhaps it would be too intimate right now, too out of place for people like them, for the.. odd little relationship they have going here. They’re already doing what he thinks most would consider cuddling, so he really doesn’t want to push it. 

Jerome twirls a curl around one of his fingers and draws Bruce out of his thoughts. “I’m gettin’ the impression I should almost get myself killed more often if it’s gonna put you in the mood for this. You’ve got quite the hero complex there, Bruce.” 

Bruce rolls his eyes at that. He presses a kiss to that particular splatter of freckles in the center of Jerome’s chest, Jerome’s chest hair tickling his nose, then leans up to press a kiss to his lips. Jerome nips at his lip before Bruce pulls away and returns to his former spot. “Or you could just come and see me. You know, like a normal person. There doesn’t need to be any murder or murder attempts involved.” An olive branch. 

Jerome genuinely looks surprised, like he wouldn’t expect Bruce to want to see him unless he’s been forced to in some way. Bruce can’t really say he blames him. He shouldn’t want to see Jerome again but Jerome popping in to see him really does work better than some new grand, dramatic attempt on Bruce’s life. It wouldn’t draw any attention from Detective Gordon either. He’s already not looking forward to Jim knocking on his door to talk about today. 

He hopes Jim has the patience to wait until tomorrow. He can’t imagine how he’d even try to explain this if Jim saw them in this particular state. Selina hasn’t even been made fully aware of it and it had taken him ages to be able to convince her that yes, it had been consensual, and no, he doesn’t want her to tell anyone, can she please just keep quiet about it until he figures things out?

Jerome brushes the hair off Bruce’s forehead, bringing him back to the present, and Bruce doesn’t entirely understand the expression he’s seeing. He still looks a little caught off-guard, a little contemplative, and a little like something Bruce hesitantly calls fond. “Maybe I’ll have to take ya up on that offer, darlin’.”

Bruce tries not to let his mind go wild with possibilities. 

He fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed! kudos and comments are appreciated as always 😌. hopefully i'll have a few more things uploaded before the end of the year!
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](https://cherryvaleska.tumblr.com/) and a [twitter](https://twitter.com/jeromevaIeskaz) if any of you want to pop by and talk to me about these fools <3


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